


it all comes down to this.

by tomlinsoul



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: CEO Louis, Fluff, History, M/M, Museums, historian harry, short harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 20:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13419027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomlinsoul/pseuds/tomlinsoul
Summary: “What can you tell me about Galileo then?”or:Harry is a tour guide and history enthusiast at a museum and Louis is the CEO on his tour who needs a theme for his office party. They never really stood a chance.





	it all comes down to this.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I swapped the height difference because I was curious, it isn't a huge theme so don't get turned off. The Museum of London is an actual place, but I took many liberties in describing galleries and the exhibitions (and also the location.) All the facts included are historically accurate as far as I know, I'm a pretty big history nerd and the ones I didn't know have come from reliable sources.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! (See if you can spot all the Love Actually references ;))
> 
> (beta'd by the wonderful [Ganeefah](http://just-hold-louis.tumblr.com) who saved my life by agreeing to edit this weird fic.)

It all comes down to this.

He moves through the museum and he’s a voyeur: a pair of prying eyes, nosing into stories that were never his to see, to know or to feel, but the guilt will always dissolve into obsession because he will always breathe for history, and no-one will ever be able to take it away.

History shakes Harry to the core. It wraps its arms around him and draws him in, invites him to hear a tale of forgotten, mud-stained scandals - and he has always listened. During history classes he would sit at the back with his notepad, scribbling down all the throw-away anecdotes his teacher would mention, crafting links and rambling introductions that begged to be included in some sort of essay. He’d sit in exams with his pencil rubber bitten down to the metal and the lead tip blunt, words spilling onto the page as if they were in love with the flimsy file paper. History was his friend. Is his friend. 

**

The museum is quiet in the early hours of the morning, not yet open to the public. Really, he doesn’t even need to be there for another two hours, but he loves having so much history open to him, undisturbed, uninterrupted. His footsteps are quiet on the tiled floor, anticipation burning beneath his skin and thrills speeding along his bloodstream. He presses his pass to the door leading through to the Medieval History rooms, and he props it open, a trail of curiosity so easy to follow.

Harry’s eyes are bright as he watches the mechanical models move, depicting a trial by ordeal. He practices recalling all the information he can about the displays, thinks of the context and how he can make the events dynamic and entertaining to the group he’ll tour later on. Religious vs Monarchical control, he thinks. That buzz seems to be back again. 

The next hour is spent wandering through the rooms he’ll be on today. Back in university, everyone had a preference for either modern or ancient history, but Harry never understood how anyone could pick a favourite. He loves Greek Mythology and he loves the Tudors, but he loves the Roaring Twenties and the Russian Revolution just as much. It makes him wonder if he’ll ever love anyone as much as he loves history.

After leaving the galleries long before it opened to the public, he finishes his breakfast in the breakroom before heading to his first tour at 9.25. The exhibits are still quiet as he makes his way to the front of the museum, eager to greet his tour group for the morning. His name is printed on a stand-along with a bold sign reading the times of his first tour. He parks himself by it dutifully, ready with a bright smile and a clipboard. Over the five months of his employment, things like this have become second nature, so natural it hurts. 

The first person he meets is a lad around his age, much taller and more muscular than him. 

“Hi, welcome to the Museum of London!” he says brightly, trying not to be intimidated. “I’m Harry and I’ll be your guide today. What’s your name?” 

“Liam,” the man offers, “nice to meet you.”

Harry runs him through the basics of the tour and makes small talk until the rest of the group show up and he can begin. Just as he starts to walk towards the first gallery they’ll be viewing, they’re joined by a tall man wearing an expensive looking tartan scarf half-running to get to the group. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” he says breathlessly, voice lilting and rich, scrambling into place next to Liam.

“Oh,” Harry smiles up at the man, checking his clipboard, “I thought we were missing one! You must be Louis.”

As they amble slowly through the halls, he can’t help but steal glances through the group at Louis. He’s chatting loudly with Liam, accent carrying strongly through the buzz and it’s comforting. He’s drawn to it. 

The Medieval Medicine opens their tour and Harry is in his element. 

“An important thing to remember when looking at these instruments and models is that medieval doctors had no idea what caused disease. The main theory was still the Greek’s: disease was a result of the ‘four humours’, phlegm, black bile, yellow bile and blood, becoming unbalanced,” Harry begins. “Some blamed demons, and spiritual influences such as sin due to the exceptionally religious culture that controlled most of the country. Have a look around the room for a few minutes and then we’ll meet by the door to go to the next gallery!” 

His clipboard is haphazardly arranged, and he begins to pull the route and timetable to the front as he turns away from the group.

“So you really know your stuff then.” Looking up from his clumsy fingers, he sees Louis standing to his left, a small smile across his face.  
“I’d be out of a job if I didn’t,” he says truthfully in retaliation, finally leaving his papers alone. “Its pretty basic stuff that I spiel to the group anyway. You’d learn it at GCSE, but when people want to know more, that’s when my true talents are revealed.” His voice is jovial and light, something about Louis is easy and refreshing. (It almost feels like flirting.)

“Oh really?” Louis grins, voice challenging, “do tell me more about the wonders of medieval medicine, O Wise One.” (It definitely feels like flirting.)

“Well, would you like to hear about Medieval enemas?” Harry asked, laughing softly.

“Would I ever.”

“Enemas were all the rave in those times, performed by bizarre instruments called clysters which pumped a delicious concoction of boar’s bile into one’s anus,” he says, meeting the challenge with the first nasty fact he could think of. 

“Oh! And King Louis XIV of France had 2,000 enemas, some even administered while he sat on his throne.” He knows what he’s doing, including the information about a king by the name of Louis, but he has yet to regret a thing.

“Wow, that’s… something,” Louis replies, looking mildly horrified. “Boar’s bile? They couldn’t just use soapy water?”

“Those were the days,” he sighs, feigning a wistful expression. He sends Louis a quick, flirty smile, before turning to the rest of the room and calling quietly for his group to follow him. 

As they progress through the maze of ancient history, Harry talks to Louis, sharing brief, quirky anecdotes full of royal scandals and nasty practices. Louis reciprocates with genuine interest and quick, safe touches that shouldn’t make him feel the way he does. The butterflies cartwheel in his stomach as they move towards the first of the Science galleries, and not just because it’s one of the few areas in history he isn’t hugely enthusiastic about. The end of the tour probably means that he’ll never see Louis again and he’s definitely not brave enough to ask him for his number. 

Pushing the distracting thoughts aside, he turns his mind to the first model of the universe. “Kepler is an inspiration to this day, because despite his impoverished, humble beginnings he depicted three laws and created a model that predicted mercury would pass over the sun and showed how essential the sun was for planetary motion…” 

**

Once he’s answered questions and everyone is exploring the other wonders of scientific revolution, he wanders to the early calculator display just for something to do, really. He reads the caption and learns nothing new, but enjoys the memory refresh, the bright lights bringing him back down to reality. It was stupid to flirt with a visitor: no-one ever visits the museum twice in a year, let alone a week or a month and he’ll probably never see him again. How delusional of him to think anything different.  
Harry turns back to the room and, speak of the devil, he sees Louis approaching him, leaving the small painting of Galileo behind. “What can you tell me about Galileo then?”

“Well,” Harry smiles coyly as if he wasn’t just having over-involved thoughts about him, “he wasn’t the most interesting guy, but he used to slag off Kepler, the guy I told you about? Saying his theory was bullshit and all that, but then in 1831, mercury passed over the sun just like Kepler predicted, which I’m guessing was a bit of a blow to the balls, really. He also refused to believe that the moon controlled the tides so he was a bit of a stubborn, dickhead genius.”

Louis laughs at that and Harry feels like he needs that achievement on a trophy somewhere - “Made Louis laugh”. He looks up at him shyly, brushing his hair to the side and Louis looks down and smiles gently at him for a moment. 

“So, you like the science side of history then?”

The moment isn’t gone per se, but it feels like something burst and Harry blushes, recovers.

“I like almost every aspect of history, but science isn’t my favourite. In school I was obsessed with the tudors and I would save my pocket money to buy every BBC history magazine that featured them, but now I save my pocket money to buy every magazine regardless of the topic. There’s just so much to love in history, I could never choose a favourite or a least favourite.” He feels as though he probably got a bit too enthusiastic and tries to compensate with a small ‘but yeah’. 

Louis doesn’t look bored. He’s leaning against a pillar,focused entirely on what Harry is saying and it's different. It feels special, to have someone care about what he has to say on a different level than within his tours. 

“I get you, love,” he says softly, “it's nice you have such a passion for something like this.” Its nearly longing, the way he says it, and if Harry didn’t feel like they had already shared way too much for two people on their first meeting, he might ask. Instead, he smiles for the billionth time at Louis and gathers his group to announce the end of the tour. 

“I’ll be doing a modern history tour next Wednesday, you can sign up at reception or show up on the day,” he concludes. “I hope you had a lovely tour, feel free to continue walking through the galleries and ask questions to the staff around the museum. Thank you all for joining us!” 

He gathers his clipboard and smiles quickly at Louis before offering a small wave and dashing off to the break room. 

The cup of tea he brews grounds him for a moment, but his head is rushing and his skin is crawling with the intensity of the previous two hours. Warm tea soothes his vocal chords, sore after almost relentless speaking, but it doesn’t soothe his racing mind as he thinks about the man who changed so much. He tries not to think about the facial hair littering Louis’ face and how it would feel between his thighs, or how strong and stable he looked, how he was taller than him and so so confident. All of which, of course, are forms of thinking about those things directly. 

**

A custard cream is sat in front of him as he scrolls through his phone, enjoying his 15 minute break from the hectic and relentless stream of people throughout the museum. His co-worker, Jenifer, who he’s never really got along with, comes slouching through the door, her brown eyes looking bored as usual. She works in customer service and he has absolutely no idea how she got the job as she is probably the least personable human being to ever exist. 

“Harry,” she drawls in her monotone voice, “could you take this scarf to the lost property box when your break ends?” She throws the scarf at him and he catches it, realising quickly that it belonged to Louis, the rich, expensive material soft in between his fingers and he feels a stupid, inexplicable ache in his abdomen. 

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “of course,” but when he looks up Jenifer is gone and he’s left with his thoughts. 

*

Harry’s next tour isn’t until Wednesday, which means he has three days of curating or visitor assisting: decidedly the worst part of the job. Sometimes it's full of interesting conversations and he gets to explain the best parts of history to curious individuals, but sometimes it's three hours of directing people to the toilet. There’s rarely a middle ground. 

This afternoon is spent in the Tudor gallery in the West Wing, which is an area of expertise for him. He spends the time wandering round the exhibit, studying the paintings and practices asking himself weird questions and challenging himself to remember as much as he can from his second year thesis. Nothing will beat a conversation, though, so he crosses his fingers and heads across the museum. 

He’s met immediately by a family with two young children who are eager to know about Henry VIII and how fat he was, and he’s back in his element, thoughts about Louis gone. Almost.

At three, he heads to reception where he’ll gather his files for the next day and say hello to Linda - his closest friend at the museum and pretty much the only other person under 30. He touches his pass to the door leading behind the counter and he fishes for his schedule in the filing cabinet straight away, seeing that Linda is occupied with a visitor. He files his completed itinerary for the day and prepares his clipboard before he turns to say goodbye to Linda, but sees that the other customer has retreated and Louis is there talking to her instead.

“Louis?” He asks, surprised to see him back so soon, butterflies resurrected in his stomach. 

Louis’ eyes snap to him, a small shock of relief covering his face. “Harry, hi,” he says quietly, voice slightly breathless. 

Linda turns to him with a raised eyebrow. “Since you seem to know each other, are you okay to sort him out so I can deal with the next person? We’re a little backed up without Terry.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine.” Harry’s face twists into a smile as he lets himself out of the room and meets Louis by the counter. His blue eyes are shining as they meet Harry’s, looking as pleased to see him as Harry would have hoped. “What brings you back so soon, then?”

“Well, I got back to the office after a certain magnificent tour this morning,” he winks suavely, “and I only realised I had left my scarf behind once I was sat at my desk. Do you know where I could find it?”

“Oh yes! I saw that earlier and took it to lost property. I’ll come with you to get it! I’d hate for you to have to deal with the dinosaurs that are on shift today,” he laughs, brushing Louis’ hand and pointing in direction of customer services. Fucking Jenifer. 

“How has the rest of your day been?” Louis asks.

The question is casual but Harry can’t help but smile widely in response.

“Yeah it was okay, I was stationed in the Early Modern galleries so I was dealing with the Tudors and the Stuarts, and I had some great conversations which makes it easier,” he recounts happily, steering round a corner. “You?”

“Well there’s this idiot in Sales who won’t stop screwing up our contract negotiations so I had to let him go which is never easy, but other than that it was alright, yeah.” It’s a casual exchange but it feels so goddamn natural that Harry just wants to talk to him for the rest of his life. 

“Okay, you wait here and I’ll nip in and grab your scarf, alright?” Harry tells him as they arrive behind customer services. His card lets him in and he finds the tartan pattern easily amongst the stray gloves and dummies lining the shelves. “And you’re reunited,” he grins as he hands the scarf back to Louis. 

“Thank you so much,” Louis smiles, “Was proper chilly walking back to the office and couldn’t think why.”

Harry grins right back. “Hey,” he says hesitantly, sticking his thumb in the direction of his locker, “would you mind if I grab my bag from the break room and then we could walk back to the entrance?”

They chat some more as they meander through the museum to the East break room where Harry quickly accesses his locker and pulls out his coat and rucksack, ready to head home after a day on his feet. They’re about to say goodbye as they stand by the front entrance, the hubbub of London meeting Harry’s ears for the first time since 7.15, when Louis’ face sobers and he stands straight, towering over Harry by nearly a head. “Hey, would you maybe like to get coffee some time?”

Harry’s shocked for a moment, he never thought Louis would actually offer, but he’s quick to reply with an obvious affirmative. “I’d love that,” he says shyly, brushing a hand across his fringe. 

They exchange numbers and Louis holds Harry’s hand gently for a moment before giving it a squeeze, giving him a smile and a soft goodbye. He’s swallowed up by the city buzz that had been drowned away, and shit. Harry is so fucked.

**

Sunday mornings for Harry have always been tea and peanut butter toast, sleeping in and rainy weather. They’re the day off from his busy job, a day to himself, a day in his small, studio apartment. Sunday mornings are watering the house plants and cooking that week’s dinner, freezing it down. They’re usually his day off from his phone as well, turning to old movies and classic novels instead of social media.

Not today though. Today is waking up at 8am and getting dressed before his morning cup of tea, because today is going out with Louis. They’d planned to meet at a small coffee shop just off Hyde Park at 11, and he needed to be ready. There’s an outfit hung on the doors of his wardrobe which he pulls on quickly before he sits down for his quick breakfast. His phone chimes with a text from Louis and he nearly spills his tea in excitement, eager to read what it says. “Excited for today, my love. Dress warm!”

Louis had been very caring over the last couple of days that they had exchanged texts, always making sure Harry had eaten and was looking after himself. It was nice to feel looked after and cared for by someone. The last few months since he’d graduated university had felt a bit lonely in some areas as all his friends were busy with their new jobs or their Masters degree, and with his family so far away it had been difficult to stay afloat at times. Louis had come in and changed so much in such a little amount of time. 

He gets on the tube at half nine, not entirely dreading the journey now he knows what’s at the other end. He can’t afford to live in the inner city, but he’s fortunate enough to live in Lewisham which isn’t terribly far away. By public transport though, it takes him an hour and ten minutes, two buses and a long ride on the Victoria line before he’s sat in the coffee shop with his second tea of the day clutched between his fingers. Its 10:51 when Louis strides through the door, donned in a long coat and the same tartan scarf. He spots Harry almost immediately and walks confidently from the door to the small table in the corner of the shop. 

Its noisy and crowded as tourists struggle to get away from the relentless rain, but everything seems to dissipate once Louis is sat across from him with a smile painted across his face. Harrys hands grip his mug tightly, seeking the warmth from his hot cup of tea. “Sorry you had to wait for me, love,” Louis says as he takes his coat and scarf off, reaching for Harry’s hands. He holds them tightly in his, much too warm to have been outside for long and Harry wonders how he’d got to the coffee shop. 

“It’s okay,” he says in reply, “I was early anyway. Didn’t know what the buses would be like.” 

“You didn’t have to come far, did you?” Louis asks.

“Well I live in Honour Oak, so it was a bit of a trek but it's okay, we’re here now.”

Louis stands up to get himself a drink. “Well I’ll drive you home later so you don’t have to face the tube again,” he winks. 

He comes back with a black coffee steaming away in its white mug, the saucer balancing a complimentary chocolate mint and biscuit. Setting it down on the table, he looks over at Harry. “I know we’ve been talking these last couple of days but I feel like there’s still so much basic stuff I don’t know about you,” he says earnestly before sipping from his mug, peering over the rim.

It’s true really. They’d talked a lot about what they were doing and how their days were going, had flirted relentlessly, but Harry had no idea about his family or his job. It was nice though, getting to know these things in person instead of seeing them spelt out over a screen. 

“Why don’t we start with the basics then?” Harry proposes. “Tell me how old you are and what you do and then I’ll do the same.”

Louis takes another sip of coffee, considering the proposition carefully before looking over at Harry once more. “Well, I’m 27 and I’m the founder and CEO of a branch of bakeries that feature in a few cities and towns across the country.” He says it so nonchalantly it’s almost as if it isn’t a big deal that he’s a successful businessman at the ripe age of 27. It is though. It definitely is.

“I can’t really compete with that, but I’m 22,” he offers, shy as he reveals his life to such a successful man as Louis, “and I’m a tour guide and advisor at the Museum of London. I graduated just last year and worked in a store for a bit before I landed the job at the museum and got my life started really.” He definitely doesn’t find the age gap not. Definitely not. Not one tiny bit. 

“So you went to Uni in London?” 

Harry hums. “Yeah, I thought it would be one of the best places to study history because it’s been, like, the pinnacle of British history for so long, you know? And I wanted to be in the centre of that and also be surrounded by so many museums... and yeah.” He trails off as he realises he’s rambling just a tad, not wanting to bore Louis on the very first date. 

“That’s so interesting, Harry,” Louis says softly, not a hint of sarcasm tainting his voice. It’s nice to have someone so ready to listen to him, so accepting of his ambitions and his interests, especially one as boring to some as history. “You know I always wanted to pursue music.”

“Really?” He gestures to the biscuit left untouched on Louis’ saucer with a questioning glance and Louis nods fondly. “Yeah, I moved to London just for that when I was 18,” he says with a dreamy look in his eyes. “But then I realised that I needed to make a living, and I loved the idea of owning my own business as well. In sixth form I was fascinated with economics and I applied for university.... The rest is history really.” He realises the unintentional pun and they both laugh, the atmosphere loose and comfortable. 

“What kind of music?” Harry asks, dipping Louis’ biscuit into his tea.

“Well I sang a bit, but it was piano I was passionate about. I played piano in an Italian restaurant in Hammersmith while I was in Uni, the nights fit well, but I decided that business was the route that I would become most successful in and it felt right. Started a small bakery when I was 22, and it took off from there.”

“You are much more interesting than you look, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry sighs in mild fascination.

Louis laughs at that, and once again Harry feels like he’s won himself the sun.

*

They decide to go for a walk once the rain eases up, and Louis swiftly takes Harry’s hand in his. “You’re quite small, aren’t you?” he says, looking down at the other man. Harry’s hand looks so small in his as they wander across Hyde Park. 

“Don’t remind me,” Harry pouts, “peaked when I was 14 at 5’4 and could never grow another inch. Was the worst at uni when everyone would take the piss and boys in the pub never thought I was legal.” 

“Well I think it’s cute, love,” Louis says, leaning down ever so slightly to place a kiss to the top of Harry’s head. “Besides you’re only a head smaller than me.” 

“I’m so scrawny though! My best friend Niall was always the same but beefed up last year when he started eating better and just grew up a bit, so now I’m all alone in my struggles!” he complains dramatically, bordering on petulant. 

“Well I think you look wonderful, darling,” Louis grins. “How about a hotdog?” 

(They eat their sausages while they’re sat on plastic bags to cover the soggy wood of the bench: Louis has mustard covering his face and Harry stuffed too much in his mouth but they’re laughing so hard it doesn’t matter. Nothing has ever felt like this before.)

 

Harry suggests they find another coffee shop or book store to sit down in now that they’re so far from the one they started in, and Louis takes his hand and leads him down a few side streets until they get to a small cafe full of wicker and cushions. 

They settle down onto a sofa with steaming mugs of hot chocolate, and Harry feels comfortable and safe with Louis. They’re at opposite ends of the sofa, stealing glances at one another as they sip their warm drinks in a comfortable silence. It’s raining outside, the raindrops making patterns on the glass of the window behind them but there’s a roaring fire across the shop and they’re cosy curled up on the furniture. “What made you come to the museum the other day?”

Louis chuckles quietly to himself at the question and drinks some more of his chocolate before he replies. “I’m trying to arrange a party for the office, you see,” he begins, mirth dancing in his eyes as he looks over at his date. “Our Christmas Do was an absolute travesty, so I thought I could organise one for the end of the financial year in March. I really liked the idea of having it set in some sort of historical era but I needed some inspiration so I booked me and Liam, he’s my CFO, on your tour.”

Harry’s eyes are gleaming with anticipation. “You have to let me help you! You should come on Wednesday to the modern history tour because there will be way more that you could do easily. I mean, the twenties is the first thing that comes to mind! There are plenty of costumes online and you could get the culture down to a T with a bit of jazz and the Charleston! I could tell you about some of the foods too and…”

“Harry,” Louis interrupts him with a laugh, “of course I’ll let you help me, who else would I ask, hm?” 

Subdued and mildly embarrassed, Harry sits back in his seat and buries his face in the steam from his mug. He looks up shyly and nods slightly in return to the expectant, kind look he’s being given. “Yeah, okay.”

Louis doesn’t dwell on the subject, but moves on. “Do you want a slice of cake?”

**

Harry wakes the next day to a text from Louis. “Enjoy your day off, darling. Eat breakfast and relax today!” 

He rolls onto his back with a stupid grin on his face as he replies, “I will! Have a good day at work, love. Text me later x” 

As he sips his tea and eats his peanut butter toast, he reads this month’s edition of the History Magazine from the BBC, engrossed in the wonders of the Edwardian family dramas. He thinks that's why he loves history so much, all the rumours and the sex, the scandals that affected the politics that affected the future of the British society, the future he was now living in. He thinks back to 1509 and how the population of his city used to be 60,000, but now its crawling with 8.8 million inhabitants. He thinks about the changes to taxations in the Early Modern period and how they caused societal changes that could be linked to the Industrial Revolution.

He thinks how all of these things led to the Museum of London, and how he met Louis.

**

On Tuesday morning, he gets to the museum only a half hour before his shift, choosing instead to spend the morning on the phone to Louis, chatting about their previous day and sharing more and more narratives about their pasts and their presents and their futures. He has a happy expression fixed permanently to his face, and he’s not even sad about the fact that he’s stationed in curating all day, assisting the Museum Director sorting the new arrivals and writing descriptions, ready to be sent to the engraving company they use. 

Ben is an interesting man. He holds the room when he’s in it, but he’s always intimidated Harry with his height, deep voice and confidence. Not to mention his controversial opinions he never has a problem voicing. He’s cracking his knuckles over an Egyptian mummy when Harry walks in and he knows he’s in for a long day. Think nice thoughts.

He finishes at five on a Tuesday, later than usual and walks to the bus station with Linda like they do on the days their schedules line up. The weather is cool but it isn’t biting, the clouds provide a cover over London as he strides through the busy streets. “Martial Arts tonight?” He asks his friend, nudging her arm as they enter the station.

“You know it,” she winks. “Watch out tomorrow, we’re learning a new routine.”

They stop just before they get to Harry’s shelter. “You scare me to death,” he says seriously. 

“Bye Harry,” Linda sings as she walks away.

**

“Will you be at the tour today?” Harry texts Louis as he sits on his second bus to work. He looks out the window at the passing roads of London, wanting to be in Battersea as soon as possible. It’s two tours today and he finishes at 2, but knowing the manager on duty today, he’ll be roped into doing at least an extra half hour of filing or documenting. When he’s wandering through the galleries he feels calm and serene, surrounded by the history he knows and the history he wants to know, not jittery and expectant like he does now. 

“I’m so sorry darling but something has come up. Won’t be able to make it. :(” 

His heart sinks and he rests his head against the cool, vibrating glass. Disappointment and anxiety makes its way through his bones as he realises that all he geared himself up for today won’t be happening; he won’t get to share his favourite parts of history, the parts nobody cares about, with Louis. He won’t get to watch him listen with intent as Harry tells him all the trouble that the German politicians got themselves into. 

His stop arrives, and all of a sudden he doesn’t want to be in Battersea anymore. 

The tight smile he wears for the majority of the tour makes his tummy twist and turn and he feels like a fraud as he talks about the Industrial Revolution and the impacts it had on the entire world, particularly India. There’s a face missing as he walks his group through the World War I exhibition and talks about how the Sainsbury’s Christmas advert lies about the impact of the truce in 1914. Museum walls hold his secrets as he tries his best to lose himself in what he loves the most.  
(If he skips the Twenties gallery, no one has to know.)

Harry throws himself into the history surrounding him even more for the rest of the day, talks even more than he usually does on the second tour, assigns himself a new visitor each new gallery and explains everything he can think of, shares the weirdest, most bizarre facts he knows in each room. It helps that all the tourists eat it up, asking more questions and laughing at his happy, eager facade. When the tour is over his tips are the best he’s had this month and he thinks that maybe he needs to feel unreasonably sad over ridiculously fit CEOs more often. 

Dodging the manager, he leaves the museum at 2 on the dot, only offering Linda and Terry a small wave from across the main hall before zipping his coat up and weaving through the busy pavements to the bus station. 

“How was your day, love?” Louis had texted him just ten minutes before he checks his phone when he’s on the first bus home. He knows full well that he’s been a bit (very) overdramatic about something as small as Louis missing a tour he had never actually agreed to anyway, but its not like he can help it. Things just felt so good with Louis that he had expected everything to be smooth sailing and perfect straight away, no matter how stupid and unrealistic that was. 

“It was good” he types out carefully. “Missed you :)” His fingers hover over the ‘send’ button for a moment before clicking it and turning off his phone quickly. He’s happy Louis texted him. He’s happy that he can move on from over reactions and he’s happy that things can go back to normal. Besides, Louis never has to know he got so upset.

**

The next few weeks are the brightest Harry has ever experienced. He’s doing tours through all the different parts of the museum almost everyday after his boss noticed how popular he was becoming with the tourists, and he gets to share the parts of history he thought nobody cared about with so many people. There’s a GCSE history class that comes to tour and he has some great chats with some of the eager students, fascinated by what he has to say. There’s a pep in his step, and its all aided by the relationship he’s developing with Louis. 

On February first, Harry runs out of the front entrance and throws himself at Louis who’s waiting with a cigarette and a smile. His arms wrap around Harry tightly, the strong embrace the best birthday present he could hope for. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he mumbles into Harry’s hair before they pull away.  
Harry beams in response as Louis grabs his hand and pulls him in the direction of the road, flagging down a taxi. “I was thinking we could head to my place for some movies and a home-cooked dinner,” Louis says with a questioning tone. 

Harry kisses him on the cheek as he agrees, and it’s only when Harry hears Louis say “Kensington” to the driver that he begins to worry slightly. He’s clearly well off and sophisticated and Harry’s just not. It might be early to tell, but he feels as though he and Louis have something good and he knows that he won’t let petty fears get in the way of his happiness.  
(Although it doesn’t make the anxious thoughts disappear, they’re quelled when Louis puts a comforting hand on Harry’s knee.)

Louis owns a terraced house in Kensington, well-sized and expensive, and he places his hand on the small of Harry’s back as they walk up the white steps to the front door. He unlocks it and they enter the hallway where a large, curly dog greets them. Louis sinks down to give him a cuddle immediately: “This is Clifford,” he says.  
Harry tentatively joins him on the floor of the white hallway. “He’s gorgeous.”

“I suppose I just have a thing for curly-haired lads,” Louis winks before standing up and taking his coat and shoes off. “Leave your stuff anywhere in the hallway.”

Harry follows Louis through to the kitchen and sits at the island, faint blush residing on his cheeks as a result of Louis’ comment. “Have you got any further in planning your office party?” He asks, fiddling with a bowl of fruit sitting in front of him. 

Louis hums from where he’s brewing them some tea, “We have a venue and a date set for the 29th March. I’m up for planning the ins and outs later if you are?”

Harry plays it cool. “Obviously,” he says, all chill and everything, “sounds good, no probs.” Definitely pulled it off. He doesn’t even think about how the party will mark three months since they met.

Louis laughs lightly and turns to give him his tea, fond shining in his eyes. “Sounds excellent, love.”

They get set on making dinner, Harry chopping the vegetables and prepping the pasta, delegating the job of boiling the kettle for the pot and pouring the wine to Louis who proved pretty hopeless within the first few moments. “How do you actually survive?” Harry giggles as Louis misses the centre of the tomato and nearly skins his thumb as the knife slips. 

“I don’t know,” he laughs. “Tesco meal deals and take-out to be honest.”

“McDonald’s was established in 1940” Harry says, boiling the pasta while he preps the sauce. “Its kinda weird because you never see them being built do you? They’re just there like they’ve been there before dinosaurs.”

“You really are quite the history nerd, aren’t you?” Louis says, amused.

“Oh no,” he laughs, “I saw that one on their twitter the other day.”

 

They’re both full up on pasta and wine by the time they sit down with a pad of paper and the mind to plan the party. “Okay so the twenties,” Louis says, crossing his eyes as he tries to focus on the paper.

Harry’s giggling hopelessly into his wine glass, “movie stars umm, the Chive- the chuckston…. Charleston.”

“Dancing,” Louis agrees, writing it haphazardly at the top of the page. “Movies.”  
(They end up falling asleep against each other on the sofa, drunk on wine and what feels very much like the beginning of something great.)

Louis wakes up the next morning to Harry humming some song from the Love Actually soundtrack knocking around his kitchen. His back is sore from sleeping in some awkward position on the sofa and it cracks as he stands up. There’s a mild headache rattling through his skull, from the alcohol or the shite sleep he isn’t sure. “Morning, darling,” he says as he leans against the door frame into the kitchen, “what a lovely sight to see.”

Harry’s just in the shirt Louis had lent him after dinner last night and his boxers, hair a mess and face flushed. Eggs and beans are cooking on the stove and he’s still holding a wooden spoon in his right hand. “I was just about to wake you up,” he says shyly. “Um. Breakfast?”

“As if I’d say no.”

It’s that Sunday that they actually do get round to planning the party. Harry does most of the work, makes little outfit suggestion cards and helps Louis find someone who will show the guests how to dance at the party. “Dating actually began in the 1920s,” Harry says nonchalantly as he’s sat on the floor next to the coffee table in his flat, scrolling through 20s costumes online, while Louis sits with some files he’s sorting through. 

“Really,” Louis says, surprised. “I have the flappers to thank for you as a boyfriend then?”

Harry looks up with a smile. “Boyfriend?” 

“Long time coming I think, love,” he laughs lightly, “I’m surprised neither one of us has said it yet.” 

Harry laughs, face beaming as he abandons the computer in favour of scrambling into Louis’ lap and giving him a good old fat kiss. It feels just like the first time and he hopes that nothing will ever get old with Louis. “I’m going to love you one day,” he says, and he means it.

** 

Louis ends up inviting Harry to the office party because of course he does. It marks the three month anniversary of when they met, and Harry brings him a small gift. A tiny little statue of Galileo weighs heavy in his pocket and it feels like he’s holding a promise, something that sits tight in his throat and deep in his stomach. 

“Haz!” his boyfriend shouts as soon as he spots him across the room, dressed like a proper 1920s gentleman. The party’s in full swing, and people are snacking on devilled eggs and whole-wheat sandwiches, just like he’d suggested.

“Hi, love,” he says once he reaches him, voice loud to be heard over the music. He grabs a champagne float from a waitress passing by and taps Louis’ gin in a cheer before taking a sip. “Is it going well so far?”

“Everyone loves the Charleston,” Louis laughs, gesturing to the dance floor where countless employees are swinging their knees and tapping their heels. 

“Obviously.” He rolls his eyes before downing the last of his champagne and abandoning the glass on a nearby table. “Here,” he says, offering his hand to Louis, “dance with me?”

They look like fools, both dressed in plaid, Louis in a suit and Harry in a jumpsuit; they’re tipsy and happy, dancing around each other. Hopelessly in love. The song changes to a slow one, Norah Jones’ voice surrounding them. Harry looks up at his boyfriend, the word spinning around his head as he wonders how he ever got so lucky. Louis’ hands find his waist as they slot together like pieces of a puzzle. Harry places his head under Louis’ chin, listens to his heart as the world slows down.

You’re the only one who can turn me back on…

 

They’re laying in Louis’ bed that night, fingers dancing slowly over each others’ body when he says it for the first time. “Lou,” he says, voice quiet and breathless, head resting on his boyfriend’s chest.

Louis hums, chest vibrating as he skims his fingers under Harry’s oversized t-shirt, tracing the outline of his waist.

“You know when I said I was going to love you one day?” His voice is so small, afraid of rejection, but bold in the face of his lover. “I think it's today.”

Louis’ hands stop tracing his skin and settle in a firm embrace around him. “I’ve loved you since you told me all about Galileo, darling.” 

Harry sits up as he remembers. “Wait here one sec.” He scrambles off the bed and races down the stairs to his coat pocket, fingers tightening around the small glass statue wrapped in layers of tissue paper, blue ribbon and bubble wrap. Pushing the bedroom door open, he holds the statue behind his back with one hand. “I got you a little something.”

“What a coincidence,” says Louis, sat up in bed, covers pulled up to his waist, exposing his bare chest. He reaches under the bedside table and pulls out a small box, wrapped in green ribbon. Harry sits next to Louis on the bed, legs tucked under him as he hands the present to him. “Same time?” 

He pulls off the ribbon and lifts the lid to reveal a necklace with a 2D metal engraving of Kepler’s model of the universe. Looking up, he sees Louis holding the statue of Galileo and they meet each other’s eyes at the same time. “Lou,” he breathes.

“H,” Louis says, voice shaky. 

(It feels even more like a promise, a guarantee of something still in its beginnings, something with a future and a certainty that won’t be withdrawn. They hold each other tighter than they ever have before, a second promise that won’t be broken.)

**

Two years later, Louis throws his keys in the bowl by the front door of their shared home and kicks off his shoes. The same tartan scarf that bought him and Harry together is removed and hung on the coat pegs and he takes his phone out of his pocket so he can hang that up too. A quiet home is rare for Louis to come home to, and today is no exception: he can hear his fiancé upstairs singing along to a Joni Mitchell album and Clifford’s looking out the living room window, barking at passers-by. 

There’s a scribbled note in Harry’s handwriting on the kitchen island that catches his attention as he flicks the kettle on, fingers hurrying to pick it up. 

It all comes down to this.  
I don’t care if we’re forgotten a decade after our death or centuries after it  
I’d be happy to only be a legend for you  
Someday someone will see that photo my sister took of us and know that there was love in the space between you and I  
And that will always be enough for me. 

It all comes down to this, Louis thinks as he sits on a bar stool in the middle of his kitchen, skin burning with the love he holds inside him, Harry Styles will unfailingly have made history in the imprint of his very being, and that will always be enough for him.

**Author's Note:**

> The poem at the end is a verse taken from a poem written by [elle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wankerville) whom I love and adore. 
> 
> (The BBC history magazine mentioned in this fic exists, and you can subscribe to it [here](https://www.buysubscriptions.com/print/bbc-history-magazine-subscription?promo=JS18PPC&style=brand&gclid=CjwKCAiA7JfSBRBrEiwA1DWSGwEO-vcV2B3s4dGiWaQBY32piYsBeVsQ7YEkXX0lYLda2eqPbB0wORoC0wQQAvD_BwE))
> 
> Come say hi on my [Tumblr](http://effortlesslie.tumblr.com)!! :)


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